In the eulogy, David said his mum and dad were “constant loving companions” throughout their lives. Those are two great words, constancy and love, and seem to describe wonderfully well Maureen’s character. From what the eulogy tells us, she was constant and loving in her marriage, her family, her friendships, her work ethic, her faith and charitable works – and let’s not forget her dancing. She also had her fair share of suffering in life, losing her mum when she was only nine, her husband a year short of their diamond jubilee and, finally, her own good health over the past eight years before the Lord took her to himself. Suffering for one who accepts it trusting in God, and most certainly for one who is constant in loving, only deepens and matures that love. I have no doubt that Maureen did just that from within the deep reserves of faith which enriched her soul.

Constancy in love, in self-giving and self-sacrifice, is the hallmark of God Himself. It is a sign, both eloquent and powerful, that Maureen had opened her heart to Christ and that she had translated His love for her into selfless love for all those whom God put on her path. Maureen “feared God and did what was right and acceptable to Him” (cf. the first reading). For this, she will most certainly “receive forgiveness of sins through his name.” Though she has walked through “the valley of the shadow of death” (cf. responsorial psalm) she will have feared “no evil”, knowing as she most surely did that the Lord was with her, comforting her and leading her to the “table prepared for her”, a table of eternal love and joy. In life, Maureen learnt how to die to herself, to die with the Lord, and so we can hope with immense certainty that she will now “live with him” (cf. second reading). She endured in faith through constant love, and so now “will also reign with him.”

Constancy in truly loving is, as I said earlier, the hallmark of God in someone’s soul. But our reading from the Gospel of St. Matthew provides us with many other hallmarks, what we call the beatitudes, “blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are the meek”, and so on. Perhaps to mix the metaphors, we could say that the beatitudes are actually the mirror of Jesus’ own deepest heart and soul. They sketch the main features of his identity, as man and as God. They differ starkly from the sort of beatitude which people often seek in life today. “Blessed are the rich, the famous, the powerful, the self-sufficient and self-reliant.” Perhaps even, “blessed are those who don’t believe in God, for they shall be free to do their own thing”, even if it denies or demeans God or themselves, even if it deceives them into pursuing a meaning in life which ends up being empty and entombed in oneself. There’s no beatitude in mourning for the loss of a self-made idol of anything material or fleeting. We are not gods unto ourselves. We are dust and to dust we shall return. Our self-invented opinions and positions and persuasions are no more than a breath and will disappear along with us.

Maureen Greenan made no such mistake. She did not let her heart be stolen by the easy talk and dazzling glitter of the fads and fantasies which entrap so many minds and hearts today. Those of you who knew and loved her will not find any trouble in applying the beatitudes of Jesus in part or in whole to who she was – indeed, who she still is before the face of God. That’s not to say that we are canonizing her a saint here and now. No, that’s God’s prerogative alone. But whatever her sins or weaknesses may have been in this life, her faith in the mercy of Jesus will have been her refuge. She won’t have denied them or explained them away or, worse, boasted of them as if they were somehow good, as so many foolishly do today, calling evil good and good evil. There is a transparent honesty to her life, a life lived for others, before God and in service of God. That honesty of life speaks quite simply and clearly to the honesty of her heart and soul.

When someone we love dies, especially a mother or father, a spouse, or a child, it can be tempting to dwell on reminiscence and to see our grief and pain merely in terms of emotion. It’s only natural and right that we experience such things, since our love for the deceased demands it. But it has to go further. Unless we are to relegate our deceased loved ones to memories of the past, we must ask the hard questions. Who in truth was this beloved person in the depths of their heart? What was it in them which made them the person they were? How am I to understand the most authentic meaning of their life, their deeds, their love and their suffering? What lasting lessons about being truly human can I draw from reflecting on them? What light does their life throw on my own? And there are other questions still. What must I make of death, the death of my loved ones, and my own death yet to come? And what is to become of them and of me beyond death?

To grapple with questions like this, the human mind and heart, on their own, will fail. How can we understand a power which in the end destroys our understanding itself? No philosopher, poet, psychologist or scientist has ever, or can ever, think or explain his or her way out of death. Only One person in human history has faced death head on, battled with it and conquered it. His Name is Jesus Christ, the Son of David in the order of the flesh, and the Son of God in the order of the Spirit. As we heard in the second reading: “Remember Jesus Christ, risen from the dead, the offspring of David.” Surrendering ourselves to His love for us, His power over death and His gift of eternal life: herein lies the key to answering all those questions I just asked. Hear St. Paul again: remember Jesus Christ. Maureen remembered Him throughout her life and He will now have remembered her in the hour of death. To remember requires effort, it requires detachment from alternatives and impostors which would have us forget Him. Maureen might even say to us gathered here: yes, remember me in your love and prayers, but raise your minds and hearts to remember most of all the Lord Jesus Christ who died for you and me, so that we can again meet together beyond the valley of death in the beatitude of His victory and life!

So, as we commend Maureen into the merciful arms of her and our Saviour, we ask for the wisdom of heart and of memory to open ourselves to Christ our Lord while in this body so that, in the hour of death, we can cry out to Him with trust, “Lord Jesus, into your hands I commend my spirit.”